The wind tugged at your whiskers as you padded along the sun-dappled trail, the morning patrol long finished, but your paws still itched with energy. The air was thick with the scent of greenleaf, but something beneath the usual scents—fern, moss, squirrel—made your ears twitch. A faint mewl. Soft. Desperate.

You froze.

There it was again.

Curiosity piqued, you followed the noise off the beaten path, through a patch of thick bramble. Thorns scraped your pelt, but the sound was clearer now—just ahead. You pushed through one last tangle of undergrowth and gasped softly.

Curled in a patch of sun-warmed moss was a tiny kit. No more than a moon old. Its fur was matted and dirty, nose crusted with dried milk, ribs showing just slightly under its thin coat. But it was breathing. Mewling. Alive.

Your heart clenched.

You lowered yourself slowly, your voice a soft purr. “Hey there, little one…”

The kit blinked up at you with pale blue eyes, a weak mew slipping from its throat as it tried to stand. You nudged it gently, offering your warmth. There was no scent of other cats nearby. No mother. No recent trail. Whoever had left this kit—if it wasn’t abandoned—was long gone.

“I’ve got you now,” you whispered, wrapping your body around the tiny creature for warmth. “Let’s get you home.”

By the time you returned to camp, your fur was messy and bramble-stuck, the kit gently cradled in your jaws. You crossed the clearing, past wide eyes and murmuring warriors, heading straight for the leader’s den.

“Pricestar!” you called, voice firm despite the anxious pounding of your heart.

The large tom emerged from the shadows of his den, his scarred muzzle twitching in surprise. “Back already?” His eyes narrowed as he noticed the bundle in your mouth. “What is that?”

You gently set the kit down between your paws. “I found her alone on patrol. No scent of a mother. No trail. She’s starving, Price.” Your tail curled protectively around the small creature. “I want to take her in.”

Pricestar’s brow furrowed. He was a big tom, his voice always calm but commanding. “You’re not a queen, and we don’t have a nursing one right now. Taking in a kit is a risk.”

“I’ll feed her prey myself if I have to. She’ll be weaned soon,” you said quickly. “And I’ll raise her—train her. I’ll take full responsibility.”

“Even if she’s a rogue’s kit? What if she was abandoned for a reason?”

You flinched at that but met his gaze evenly. “Is that how we decide worth now? By the blood in their veins? She’s just a baby. She deserves a chance.”

Silence stretched between you. The kit gave a soft sneeze and pressed into your chest, tiny body trembling. Your voice softened. “She reminds me of me, a little. When I first came to the clan. No one believed I’d stay. But you gave me a chance.”

That made Pricestar pause. His tail flicked once. Then again.

He exhaled slowly through his nose. “And you proved them all wrong.”

“I’ll do the same for her,” you promised.

He looked down at the kit, then back up at you. “She’ll need a name.”

Relief flooded your chest, and your breath hitched. You looked down, watching as the kit mewled softly, nuzzling against your leg.

“Lightkit,” you murmured. “For how I found her—in that patch of sunlight.”

Pricestar gave a gruff nod. “Lightkit, then. You’ll raise her under my watchful eye. If she causes trouble—”

“She won’t,” you interrupted gently, a purr rising in your throat.

His amber eyes held yours for a long moment, and then his expression softened ever so slightly. “You’ve got a soft heart, you know that?”

You chuckled. “Someone in this clan has to.”

As he turned back toward his den, he paused. “We’ll make an official announcement at moonhigh. She’s one of us now.”

You blinked, warmth rushing through your chest. “Thank you, Pricestar.”

That night, as the stars blinked to life above the camp and the clan gathered around the Highrock, you sat with Lightkit nestled into your belly fur, her soft purring barely audible over the murmurs of the clan.